


(fic) Untouchable (whumped! Quatre ficathon)

by windsorblue



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Borderline Insanity, M/M, Torture, dark subject matter - may be difficult for sensitive readers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-30
Updated: 2005-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-13 23:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4541136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsorblue/pseuds/windsorblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an AU of sorts, taking characters and situations from the manga <i>Battlefield of Pacifists</i> to a darker extreme</p>
            </blockquote>





	(fic) Untouchable (whumped! Quatre ficathon)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Misanagi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misanagi/gifts).



His nose was broken - Trowa could tell that much just by looking at him - bruised and black across the bridge, slightly crooked underneath the skin where it had once been a straight line. He might have had a concussion, too - he listed ever-so-slightly to one side as he sat there, face blank, eyes blank, staring wide.

His hair was gone; shorn, shaved off by his captors. They had stuffed it in a plastic bag and sent it with the vid disc. No one had mentioned how Trowa had been clutching the bag, tight in one fist held close to his chest, since they'd opened the box. No one had dared to try to take it from him.

Give us the Gundams, they said on the tape, and we'll let him live. Victor Gantz and his Perfect Peace People - and look what they'd done to Quatre. He had electrode marks on his head and the front page of an Earth newspaper was held up next to him. Twenty-four hours, they said.

Duo was pacing, yelling while he did - people twice his age and size literally ran out of his path. The only one who hadn't withered under his words was Howard, and he was sitting with a hand over the bottom half of his face, watching nothing - calculating eyes, half-hidden behind dark glasses, but the half you could see was cold and narrow, and watching nothing at all.

\--

_dark in here so dark i can't remember if i've closed my eyes or not so dark so quiet too quiet, i say - duo says it's quiet and then i say too quiet and then he says too too quiet and then we laugh haha...we got that from a movie, i think, some movie or another...also? i can kill you with my brain haha - that's from an old old vid show old from back when they called it television that duo found in the ‘net archive of a film and vid museum kill you with my brain i can kill you with my brain hello zero, hello there how are you? zero makes us bad guys bad ass bad guys what's that make us? let's go be bad guys duo - zero wants to play too don't you? i don't want to play in the dark though are my eyes closed yet? open yet? i might be asleep i can't remember but i can't be asleep because when i fall asleep the screams come and i can't sleep through the screams_

\--

Trowa sank into a chair. Watching Duo pace and yell was tiring, suddenly - exhausting - and he wished - just wished - that Duo would _just sit down_.

It's really very simple, Trowa thought. We'll just go get him. That's all we have to do - take Heavyarms and Deathscythe and just go get him. What could be easier? Why were they still sitting here?

Duo turned to him with his head cocked to one side. He knelt in front of him, balanced on the balls of his feet. His hand hovered near Trowa's knee, touching, almost. "Sure, Tro," he said, voice quiet and somber. "That's what we'll do. We'll go get him - just you and me. The rest of these guys'll just get in our way, anyhow. We'll go get him, you and me."

Trowa looked at him blankly and asked, "Since when do you read minds?"

Duo snorted. "Since when do you talk to yourself?"

"Since I was six," Trowa answered.

Duo shook his head. "Yeah, well, I just started reading minds like, five minutes ago." He got to his feet, muttering "God, what a fucked-up bunch we are," and as he turned away he added, "Meet you in the hangar in an hour."

"Yeah," Trowa nodded, and the decision was made.

\--

_different room i don't like this room either not as dark and not as quiet but they're here now with their questions and no no no not answering don't want to won't won't WON'T!_

_"Tell us where the Gundams are, and we won't hurt you anymore."_

_my head is cold, head cold, except for the buzzy bits they put there those are warm and they hurt, hurt all the time, not good warm, hurt warm, good warm is better good warm is trowa's eyes when he smiles like the good warm better_

_"...liar, liar...pants on fire..."_

_"I'll ask again. Where are the Gundams?"_

_"...buzz, buzz, not telling...don't like you - you don't play nice..."_

_"Hit him again."_

_trying not to scream someone's trying sounds like me - hurt warm hot hurts so much too much hurts like it'll break me don't break me think quatre think of something else think of trowa's eyes when he smiles and duo's old movies and heero playing with dogs and chess with Wufei and_

_"I don't think you understand something, Zero-Four. I don't think you understand that I have the best interests of the Earth Sphere at heart. I don't want the Gundams to wage war - I want them to enforce the peace. The peace that you have worked - that all of you have worked so very hard to bring about. It's a shame, really, to see such responsibility on the shoulders of someone so young as you. Don't you want to be free of all that responsibility? Don't you want to enjoy the peace freely, like any other young man your age? I can give you that freedom, Zero-Four. All you have to do is tell me where I can find the Gundams and the other pilots. That's all I ask. I promise you they won't come to any harm, but I need to know for the sake of peace - a peace so sublime and genuine that nothing can threaten it. Don't you want that, Zero-Four? Don't you want that sublime sense of peace?"_

_"...your peace comes in pieces...pieces like pizza...your peace comes with anchovies - slimy foul - anchovies have no place on a piece of peace..."_

_"Hit him again!"_

_scream again sing again yell again echo echo echolocation if i scream some more maybe the dolphins will find me hit me you hit me because you like to hit and your questions don't matter because you know i won't answer you just want an excuse to hit_

_"How did that feel, Zero-Four?"_

_"...sublime..."_

_"Tell me where the Gundams are, or I will kill you."_

_"...nuh-uh, you won't..."_

_"Where is Wing Zero?"_

_"...zero the hero, first the worst...haha!"_

_"Where is Deathscythe?"_

_"...gone to hell in a handbasket..."_

_"Where is Shenlong?"_

_"...over the river and through the woods..."_

_"Where is Sandrock?"_

_"...no no, not sharing with you, you don't play nice, don't play right...you like to break other kids' toys..."_

_"Where is Heavyarms?"_

_"...here, right here...heavyarms in my heart, right here...cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye...oops - you already did that, didn't you?"_

_"Hit him again!"_

\--

The cameras were on as they did their pre-flights - they could see each other on the screens, if they chose. Duo was watching Trowa out of the corner of his eye and Trowa wasn't hiding it but not showing him either - he had something in his hand, something golden-colored, and then Duo could see that it was a lock of Quatre's hair, taken from the bag and wrapped at one end with a rubber band. Trowa unzipped his flight suit to mid-chest, took the hair, and pinned it to the inside of his suit, at his collarbone. Not over his heart, but at his collarbone, where it would itch. Duo thought about Sister telling stories about a hair shirt and wondered what Trowa had to atone for.

They were in flight before Trowa spoke. "I used to think he was untouchable."

"Who are you talking to?" Duo asked. "Me, or yourself?"

"I'm talking to whoever's listening."

"Right." Duo shot a wry grin at the screen that showed Trowa's face, Trowa's resolute face not quite looking back at him. "I know what'cha mean, but on L2 we used to call it the Devil's luck."

"No, not that," Trowa replied, shaking his head. "Although that applies as well. I mean..." Something on his control panel beeped and he flipped a switch. "T minus three hours until we reach the satellite."

Duo nodded. "Roger that. You mean...?"

Trowa sighed quietly. "He touches when he talks. Have you ever noticed that? He touches your arm or your shoulder. He takes your elbow when he's walking beside you and trying to tell you something. He pats your back when he's glad to see you."

"Quatre's a friendly guy," Duo said.

"You do those things, too."

" _I'm_ a friendly guy."

" _I'm_ not." The words hung in the air while Trowa collected his thoughts, knit them back together. "I'm not very friendly at all, and yet Quatre still wants my friendship. It's hard sometimes. I want to touch him back but I think if I do I might not be able to stop, ever. What if I touch his arm and then find that I can't let go?"

"Would that really be so bad?"

After a long silent moment, Trowa shrugged. "I have no idea."

"I used to think the same thing about Heero, y'know? I used to think that he was untouchable, too, but mostly because I thought he didn't want to be touched. Like he'd break my arm or something if I got in his personal space, y'know? But then my curiosity got the better of me, so I tried it."

"And what happened?"

Duo grinned, unabashedly. "Don't see a cast on my arm, do ya?"

Trowa snorted softly, lips turning upward in a small smile that faded quickly into somber. "I'm going to stop thinking of Quatre as untouchable."

Duo nodded slowly, carefully. "I think he'll like that."

\--

_my eyes won't close won't blink they sting i wish i could close them but they did something to me and now i can't want...to...pictures fill my head images over and over in my eyes too fast to see to really see but there and there won't stop won't leave me be - women laughing baby smiles blood war jellyfish deathscythe in battle orange butterflies covering an entire tree and broken steel beams and thick gray smoke - fire smoke, destruction smoke, sandrock in the midst of it, the cause of it, clear black space and battle debris somewhere in there trowa's floating half-dead, my fault! - stop! - the moon over mountains and the earth from space relena speaking and heero bleeding father bleeding iria - stop! - children playing on swings and wufei destroying lake victoria and there's no sound just pictures over and over too fast blending into one emotion on every face and all of them together - stop! - and they burn my eyes - stop please stop why won't they stop please...! can't - no more - can't take it -_

"Sir! He's flatlining!"

"Well then revive him, God damn it - we're not through with him yet!"

\--

"Trowa! You've got a dozen dolls at four o'clock!"

"Roger." Trowa wrenched Heavyarms' controls, brought him around and fired automatically. Half of the suits exploded with the first volley, took out three more as they went. Picking off the remainder was almost insultingly simple.

Duo's swearing filled Trowa's cockpit. "Transport ship just took off from the back side of the satellite - I'll hold off the rest of the dolls, you go get 'em!"

Trowa kicked the thrusters into high with bloody intentions. A signal sounded on his control panel and his eyes widened. "There's still a life reading on the satellite - weak but there."

"You think they ditched him?" A wide swipe of vicious green light scoured across Heavyarms' battle monitor and five more mobile dolls exploded in the thermal scythe's wake.

Trowa quieted so his instincts could listen. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Get him - I'll cover you!"

Trowa yanked the throttle before Duo got the words out all the way - Heavyarms banked and shot downward. "Roger that. On my way."

\--

The first door Trowa opened was to the room they'd taken the vid of Quatre in. The camera was there on the tripod, pointing at an empty chair and the plainest wall he'd ever seen. The newspaper was on the floor, pages askew.

Behind second door he opened there was another chair, big, like a dentist's chair, almost. Electrodes and wires were strewn all over it. Leather straps hung from the arms and draped across the leg supports, and there was some strange-looking apparatus hanging over the headrest. Across from the chair was a vid-screen, and image after image flicked across it in rapid succession. It was maddening to look at, and Trowa shut his eyes as he turned away, grimacing. He stepped closer to the chair and took the apparatus at the head into his hands, pulled it forward and level to his face. There were tiny padded claws hanging at approximately eye level, and with a sharp breath Trowa realized their purpose - to hold someone's eyes open. He jerked back - the helmet dangled from it's brace, lifeless and creaking - and as he turned he bumped into a medical cart beside the chair. A spent syringe lay atop the tray, and on the cart was a set of the wide, flat paddles he'd seen Sally use to kick-start a patient's heart. He touched the business side of one - it was still warm. Trowa shoved the cart away and sprinted for the door.

When he opened the third door, the room beyond was pitch dark and quiet as a tomb. He held the door open wide - light from the hallway swept across it in an arc, and from one corner he heard a pained noise and the scramble of someone trying to hide.

"Quatre?" he breathed.

He was curled in on himself, lying on his side, turned away from the light. Trowa's insides lurched but he pressed himself forward, into that awful room, made his reluctant feet move. He knelt down, his hand hovering cautiously over the filthy, ragged sleeve of Quatre's shirt, caressing the air. "Quatre? It's me." He let his hand fall, gentle, onto Quatre's arm. "It's me, Trowa."

Quatre turned - tried to turn - eyes squinting. His eyes were red and dry, bloodshot, and Trowa's watered at the sight. Quatre's hands were bound in front of him with electrical tape, wrapped from the wrists halfway to his elbows. He held them close to his body, but as his eyes focused on Trowa's face his fingers stretched out, reaching for him. "Trowa?" His voice was nearly gone, scratchy and raw. "Hi Trowa, hi. Have you come to take me to Heaven now?"

Trowa blinked, and the moisture that had been building in his eyes became tears. "No - I've come to take you home."

"Oh," Quatre replied. Even hoarse and scratchy as it was, Quatre's voice still held a child-like quality that Trowa couldn't hope to explain. "Well, I suppose home would be nice, too."

A short, grateful laugh escaped Trowa in a breath. He reached for Quatre's hands, tugged them toward himself and Quatre jerked them away.

"You're touching me," Quatre whispered.

Trowa nodded cautiously. "Is that okay?"

Quatre nodded back, shaking in his limbs. "No one's touched me since I've been here - not with their bare hands - only gloves, latex gloves, rubber gloves - no skin, no touching...I think I might be untouchable, Trowa."

Trowa swallowed hard and reached for Quatre's hands again. "No, you're not. Of course you're not." Holding Quatre's fingers with one hand, he reached for his boot knife with the other. "Let's get this stuff off of you, okay?"

"I'm sorry," Quatre said as Trowa cut the tape open. He peeled off what he could without tearing Quatre's skin, peeled it off and crumpled it into a tight ball with his fist. "I told them where Heavyarms was - I couldn't keep it from them." He brought a newly-freed hand up to his chest and rested his palm over his heart. "I told them it was right here. I think they were going to cut me open to get it out."

"Heavyarms is fine," Trowa replied, gently taking Quatre's hand. He pulled Quatre forward, let Quatre lean on him as he got up. "It's in an airlock about twenty meters from here. Can you make it that far?"

"Yes." Quatre stood up for just a moment before his legs collapsed under him. Trowa caught him, pulled him back up against his chest and lifted him up, turned and hauled Quatre onto his back. He brought Quatre's arms around his neck and held fast to them. Under his thumb he could feel a burned ridge of Quatre's skin - another mark left by the electrodes, like the ones on his forehead.

"Head's cold," Quatre murmured against Trowa's neck. "Head cold. Soup for my head cold."

"You'll be warm soon, Quatre. I promise."

They were almost out the door when the screams started. Quatre flinched against Trowa's back, drew his shuddering legs up tighter around Trowa's waist. "Oh god, oh god, oh god..."

"It's okay," Trowa said. His thumbs, resting on Quatre's arms, began to stroke, calming, in tiny, tender circles. "It's okay, Quatre - it's just a recording."

\--

In the two weeks that followed, Quatre mostly slept. Sometimes when he awoke he was lucid, and sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he screamed until his throat was raw and sometimes he crawled under the blankets all the way down to the foot of the bed and stayed there until he fell asleep again.

He always slept better when Trowa was in the room, and when Trowa was in the room he made sure to touch Quatre as much as he could. He held Quatre's hand sometimes, or he sat on the bed so their knees would rest together. A couple of times when Quatre screamed, Trowa held him until he stopped. Once when Quatre wouldn't come out of the blankets Trowa stretched out on the bed beside him, and eventually Quatre uncurled himself to lie next to him.

And then one morning, when Duo and Trowa were putting some breakfast on a tray for him, Quatre stumbled into the mess on shaky legs. He was leaning on the door frame but still standing, on his own. His gaze met Duo's and Trowa's in turn and the fire was back in his eyes - the spark that made him Quatre was back, and even though his hair was still just peach fuzz, his frame was thinner than it should have been, and his nose had a bump across the bridge from where the break had healed crooked, they knew he was Quatre again, mostly.

"Let's go get Gantz," he said. "I've been thinking about it, and I have a plan."

Duo grinned and Trowa chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Eat your breakfast first. Then tell us your plan." Trowa held out his hand, and when Quatre took it, Trowa squeezed.

*end*  



End file.
